


Just Right

by ledbythreads, thebookhunter



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: ???? - Freeform, ACTUALLY THEY FUCKING HAVE IT, BEST BONZO EVER WRITTEN, Character Study, I laughed so much at this, JIMMYLOVE, LEDBYTHREADS JUST FUCKING GETS IT OKAY, LEDS MAGIC, M/M, No Drama, ONE IS JUST RIGHT, Orgasm Denial, PLUS MYSTIC CONNECTIONS, Recreational Drug Use, Robert's inner voice would delight the living original real person, THIS IS MY FAVORITE BIRTHDAY PRESENT, True Love, band members as metaphorical porridge, but it's also hot as fuck, dialogue sharp as NAILS, except when I was LAUGHING OUT LOUD, fairytale in the hyatt, how could i explain, humor fine as fuck, i grinned the whole damn fic away, i want to write like this when i'm big, jonesy is a BABE, one is too bear, robert would approve, rule of 3 in european folklore, turns of phrase to keep you dragging your jaw on the floor, two is not enough bear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22333063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: LEDBYTHREADS WROTE THIS PERFECT THING FOR ME AND MY HEART FILLED WITH UNICORNS AND RAINBOWS, MY HEAD WITH NEW IDEAS AND NOTIONS, AND MY GUT WITH A SUDDEN CRAVING FOR PORRIDGEIt's my birthday, so it's my treat. Even if you're not in this fandom, or into any of these pairings, you'll like this, I swear. TREAT YO SELVES
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant, John Bonham/Robert Plant, John Paul Jones/Robert Plant
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33
Collections: personal shaman collective





	Just Right

**Author's Note:**

> November 2019 or so we met, Leds, under the best auspices and the blessing of the Summer God. You make me happy everyday. You fill me with love for myself, and for everyone else. I knew it was a good day when you came to show me in, but I couldn't even imagine back then just how good it was going to be. We were born under a laughing star.
> 
> Here's to many many years or cahooting, cavorting, carousing, mutual nourishing, squeeing, and dancing around the Jimbert fire with songs on our lips and flowers in our hair. 
> 
> Jimmy to my Robert, Robert to my Jimmy, thank you with all my heart.

Goldilocks wakes up on the floor with his flies open. So far so good. He disentangles himself from a couple of half-naked bodies. Blearily hitches his jeans a little further up over his razor blade hipbones. Thirsty.

The sunlight is edging slowly over the sills of the Continental Hyatt’s big windows. The light is putting a little colour back into the hideous furniture. Goldilocks feels like he might perhaps be in a different fairy tale; the one where everyone else is under enchantment from a cursed spindle. But it’s probably just the Quaaludes. He staggers over to the huge, violently orange armchair, and slumps elegantly into it clutching his head. Waves of nausea. Goldilocks knows that there are more varied metaphors, but waves is the most accurate. Fuck. Or maybe this is an earthquake. Is Sunset Strip on the San Andreas fault? He has no idea. Air. He needs air. 

Out onto the balcony. Now, even this early, it is far too bright. He tries to perch on the tiny patio furniture. Some sort of artfully filigree aluminium. Where the fuck are his shades? Snake boots up on the ledge, the chair gives way and Goldilocks pitches to the floor. He surveys the world from upside-down. It’s not improved. Still thirsty. He needs someone to make him breakfast. Something wholesome like porridge. Thing is, all the groupies right now are too young to give a fuck about cooking. He’s getting a little skinny. Well as skinny as he ever gets. 

Three’s the magic number, he thinks. Drags himself back inside. On the table, the destruction of yet another Mad Hatter’s tea party. Chaos. A nice chair. Thank fuck for small mercies. Takes a big gulp of the nearest drink – spits it back out. Flat beer. Christ. 

Bottle of JD. Empty. Unopened tin of 7 UP. Bliss. Life is good. Life is glorious. Goldilocks, golden god, restored by pop. Ok US English. Soda. _‘My lover, she is lying, on the dark side of the globe’_ where soda is what you use to clean oil off motorbike parts. His mind wanders to sweaty teenage summers. 

_Dig that heavy metal underneath your hood_ _  
_ _Baby, I could work all night, believe I've got the perfect tools_

Yeah. That might work off his hangover. If he can remember the right room number. 

Rattling the lock, hands slipping on the ridiculous round door handle. Making a racket. Goldilocks is only just through the door when he is slammed up against the wall. Hands to his throat. He squawks in protest, but the familiar smell of leather and sweat, hairy, heavy body against him, and he’s already totally up for this. Going liquid and limp. Oh! what a beautiful morning.

“Oh it’s you kid” Bonzo eases up the pressure on his windpipe. 

“Morning Daddy Bear”

“Fuck off Rob. I thought I was your brother you sick fuck”

“Sick. Unfucked”

“In the last hour you mean”

“You gonna let me in your bed mate? Or just do me here?” 

“Be a good boy Rob and stop whining”

Goldilocks smirks and slips his hand down to Bonz’s crotch. Gets body slammed against the wall again in reply. 

“Hands off, Disney princess” 

Bonzo spins him round and with one hand pins his wrists at the small of his back, while the other tugs his belt out of its loops. 

“These fucking buckles, Rob. You don’t half make this more complicated. Fuck me!”

“Well I would, but you’ve never let me.”

Slam.

“Shut up or fuck off, Rob. You’re blowing the mood,” but he’s laughing. 

“Oh Daddy, you’re so strong. So big. Gasp.” 

“You’re gonna regret that love.”

“I hope so.” 

Jeans dragged down. Frogmarched over to the, what the fuck do you call that? An ottoman? Bent over kneeling. That’s new. Hands cinched by his own belt. That’s not. Goldilocks feels safe and warm. Home. 

Cold, sliding, wet. Teasing at his asshole. Gasping for real. Those hard-calloused fingertips. The hands he has loved the longest. Trusts most of all. 

Voice at his ear. Soft beard against his jaw.

“Chicks like this stuff too yknow. It’s not a fucking secret elixir”

Soft sounds he can’t help making. Pushing back. Frustrated. 

“Stop trying so hard. Simmer down.”

He takes deep breaths to keep still. This is killing him. Bonz yanks on his wrists pushing him further over. He wines. Fingers pushing him open. Fingers plural. Too much. Too big. Relax Relax Relax. Breathe. Better. The burning turns to that warm pulsing glow all over his skin. Oh god. Just right. Just right. Bonz is snaking his fingers, slow drag, ‘ _can feel the angels singing… Feels pretty good up here… Do it again… uh uh uhhh’_. Fuck, he might come untouched, and he has never done that with anyone but Jimmy. 

Nothing.

Nothing. 

What the fuck. 

Bonz is laughing like a drain. 

“Enough for you I think.”

Undoing the belt and lifting him back onto his heels. Bonz grabs him from behind into a big hug.

“That Daddy enough for you? You’ll live.”

“John. Please…”

“Don’t John me... do what you’re told, eh?”

“I was nearly… Fuck. John.”

“I’ve told you before not to wake me up…”

  
  


Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy. Which is Jimmy’s room? The one at the far end of the corridor. Goldilocks weaves through the suite, stumbling lost through the forest of the communal area. What is this he spies. Shiny shiny. Three nice lines of coke already laid out. Hundred-dollar bill already rolled up. The Riot House pixies must have been hard at work; making magic for the humans to wake up to. He must remember to leave them a saucer of cream out. 

Head full of shattered glass and rainbows. Arrogance turned up to eleven. Where the fuck is Jimmy? He’s still half, more than half hard. John. Fucking hilarious. Thing is with John; Goldilocks knows that he’s never going to measure up to Pat. Keeps it real. Now for something more mythic. My dark lord and saviour. My moon. My love. Probably off trying to impress girls with mescaline and tantric sex. They think it’s some sort of iron self-control. Goldilocks knows it’s because Jimmy can hardly ever come like that. Goldilocks, by contrast, can blow him in three minutes and make him cry in the back of a limo. Should the need arise. 

Jimmy’s door is open by a slit. Warm candlelight. Artfully arranged guitars he doesn’t trust to be out of his possession for too long. Silk scarves draped over the bedside lamps. Books with Liber au whatnot stamped in gold on heavy leather bindings. Not the dog-eared ones he makes notes in, the ones he leaves out for journalists to see. 

His narrow form curved beautifully under the thankfully plain coverlet provided by housekeeping. Goldilocks kicks his boots off and slips under the covers. Skims fingertips over a shoulder that is slightly too muscled. Warm mammal scent that is not Jimmy. Feels the person naked against his chest sigh, as they half-asleep, recognise his touch. Oh. So, that’s how it is then. Well. A bird in the hand and all that. Fairly recently fucked Jonesy does smell inviting. 

“John. John. It’s me.”

“Percy?”

He kisses his hair. His sweet shell of an ear. Starts to rub circles over his stomach and his sides. 

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s not here.”

“I know. I came to find you. I’ve been thinking about you…”

“You’re a beautiful liar.”

“Beautiful certainly.”

He nudges his cock against Jonesy’s round, delicious, ass. Like an apple. Like a split peach. 

“Jonesy do you wanna..?”

“Kiss me while I think about it.”

He starts soft. Loves it when Jonesy can’t help but turn into his arms. He’s so small and cute. It’s psychological. Or something like that. He’s so easy. Predictable. Reasonable. Generous. Sweet. He sucks Jonesy’s bottom lip reaching for his cock. Helping him get harder. 

“Is that a yes?”

“Suck me while I think about it.”

“I wanna make you come in my mouth.”

“I want to watch you.” 

Simple pleasures. The coke has really kicked in and he is rushing like crazy. He gets orally fixated at times like this. Sensation is magnified but diffuse. His erection has gone but it’s like he’s hard all over. Jonesy’s hands in his hair. Nails against his scalp. Tingling. 

He kneels over Jonesy who has propped himself up on his elbows so he can see. This position is literally a pain in the neck, but Goldilocks knows he looks magnificent like this. Coiled up. Sinuous. He holds his hair back with one hand so Jonesy gets a better view; uses his other to brace against the base of Jonesy’s cock and knead against his balls with the heel of his hand. Jonesy open’s his legs instinctually. A pink flush over half his chest. Soft grey eyes. 

Goldilocks is lost in time. Might have been doing this for minutes or hours. The soft slip of the head of Jonesy’s sweet cock over his tongue and the slight rise of his hips which Goldilocks holds back gently. Every ridge and curve, every sensation and elaboration. Slowly slowly. Tight but loose. Sucking, licking, swirling his tongue. Occasionally going deep so he can hear Jonesy stutter and gasp. He understands that he’s really fucking out of it, but this is just right, just right, no need to be anything but out of it. Building forward forward forward like Stairway. He hears Jimmy singing the herald phrase to Jonesy when they wrote it. Tad da dahh Tad dah dahh tad da da da da dahh. Like that. Jimmy was so happy. Knew they had something special. Talking composition with Jonesy like they were calculating the movement of the spheres. Like Johannes Kepler and Tycho Brahe. And Jimmy with literal stars in his eyes from the light refracted off the mullioned windows at Headley Grange. Feather-brained, channelling for Jimmy. His own personal stairway to heaven. Jimmy had been so fucking proud of him. They were so in love that summer. Most of the words had poured through him like pleasure pours through him under Jimmy’s hands. Jimmy keeping John’s drums back, like he himself is holding Jonesy back now. That power restrained. And Jonesy had wanted recorders. He can always see exactly the right thing Jimmy has missed. And now he’s blowing Jonesy in the Hyatt. In Jimmy’s bed. And although it is sweet, it’s too small a passion. Too idle a moment. And the rush. He’s coming down from the rush. And Jonesy is clutching at him. Clutching at the sheets. So, he slips down his thumb to press behind Jonesy’s balls, and makes him come like pulling the master switch down for the arc lights. 

  
  


He’s lost again. All these doors look the same. Clutching a little slip of paper with a number he’s bullied out of the kid on reception. He knows he is getting maudlin, but he just wants him. Is that too much? Just wants to get into his arms. Even if he can’t get it up. He’s blundering round barefoot. Some stolen blouse and last night’s jeans. All sweaty and covered in KY jelly and tasting of another man’s cum. He thinks he is on the right floor, two floors up. In the stairwell he wasn’t sure he’d counted right. Seventh floor. Room 93. The kid on reception had finally said the room was booked under Mr Plant. He’d nearly cried. But doesn’t want to turn up all blotchy. Maybe if he just has a little lie down till his head stops spinning. Then he can start looking again. 

  
  
  
  


“Baby. Robert. Wake up.”

Jimmy. The light behind him. Full morning. Smile like the new moon in the arms of the old. 

“Sorry. Forgot. You told me the number but… and then I didn’t even… but you did right? In the limo? But I…”

“Look.” 

Jimmy gestures with his chin. 793. 

“They thought you were being pissy about security. Phoned the room. Asking for your own room number kind of confused them.”

Robert sits up and rubs his hands into the plush of the hall carpet. Nicer up here.

“Anyway, I was with John. Earlier.” Jimmy says. Shrugs. 

“I noticed.”

“Ah… Touché.”

Robert hauls himself upwards by climbing Jimmy. 

“I want a shower. With you in it. And fuck not getting your hair wet.”

“You feeling assertive baby? I’m hoping so.”

  
  


It’s never Jimmy’s hundred-dollar bills left on the floor of the Starship for the air crew. He exclusively books ‘his’ additional supposedly secret room in the more luxurious, less trashable, part of the Hyatt. Not always the same one. And when Robert says he is off early to bed, to look after his voice, Jimmy is careful not to make him scream too loudly. 

Soft towels and clean white decor. Bathrobes and Jasmine soap. These days direct import from Afghanistan, like the hash and the opium. The water is slightly cool because Jimmy doesn’t want him going lightheaded again and a low blood pressure is not ideal for penetrative sex. Now he feels all clean and open. Jimmy with his back to him in the double enclosure. Soaping his shoulders just for the effect. Robert lifts the rope of Jimmy’s wet hair off his neck and kisses. Kisses. Bites. 

The telescoping has stopped. Robert feels exactly right. Not too big. Not too small. He feels just the right size. To fuck Jimmy into next Tuesday. Everything is just right. 

Jimmy braces himself against the tiles and Robert kisses down his spine to kneel in wet towels at his ankles. Robert snaps one of the thong bracelets off his wrist and binds his hair back. Then reverently he spreads Jimmy’s ass apart and laps. 

He always loves to go down on women, but Jimmy is the only man he does this with. To have him like this, so defenceless and unprotected, feels like something sacred. He’s such a shy man. But silk over iron will. An obsidian knife. It had taken over a year before Jimmy would first let him do this with his mouth. It still drives Robert crazy. Lapping, lapping. Working Jimmy open. He can hear him. Biting back his gasps until he is making Uh Uh Uh noises he can’t help from deep in his chest. Robert moans against him and Jimmy’s noises go up an octave in response. He’s pleading now. Wordless and keening. Robert gets his fingers into the Vaseline but he doesn’t want to use it yet because then Jimmy won’t taste of himself. He can fuck him without fingering him, big as he is, but he wants to. Wants to see Jimmy spread out against the tiles, water running over him, down his back, with Robert up to his knuckles inside him. 

“Baby. Please. Please.”

“Keep your hands there.”

Two fingers. Three. Droplets of water pearling on his waterproof hand. The slick slither drag of it. His own ass clenching, remembering himself arse up for John hours earlier. Fuck. 

“Jimmy. Jimmylove. I get lost in you. You’re so fucking beautiful. I want you so fucking much.”

Jimmy bucking back against his hands. His own white from pressing so hard against the tiles. Robert wants to marry him. Is married to him. Has given his soul to him. Everything. He pulls his hand away, stands up and scoops Jimmy up. Manages to get him out of the shower without slipping and into the bedroom. Jimmy is laughing. 

“I’m not bloody Cinderella.” 

“Pagey. Shut up and let me fuck you in a bed.”

“Why? do you need another nap baby?”

“No. I just… I wanna see you. I want you to see me when I come inside you.”

He’s got him onto the bed. On his back. Pillow under his hips. Jimmy rolls his eyes at this great show of vanilla romance. But he so hard. Nearly as hard as Robert. 

Robert greases them both up and then fucks into Jimmy right through till his hips click home like his mic in the mic stand. A perfect fit. Jimmy’s legs wrapped around him. Heels digging in. They smirk at each other for a moment while Jimmy relaxes enough so they can start to move. 

“Fuck me like you mean it baby. Don’t wait.” 

Robert grins. This is Jimmy’s idea of altruism. His green eyes thin bands of emerald against huge dilated pupils like he’s on acid. Turn on, Tune in, Black out. 

They begin. 

The only thing better than this is fucking Jimmy in front of 40,000 people. But in general, on stage he doesn’t get to come. Doesn’t get to feel that intolerable friction. That hot wet heat of Jimmy’s body. Doesn’t get to feel himself slam soft huffs of air out of his chest, that are not groans just the physical reality of leaning most of his weight onto him, as he fucks and fucks and fucks. On stage he gets to watch Jimmy lose it and trance out. On stage he gets to watch him strut and grind his hips. But he doesn’t get to feel it, cock deep inside, as Jimmy writhes and claws at him. On stage he doesn’t get to pull Jimmy’s head back. Doesn’t get to bare his throat so he can suck bruises that Jimmy’s numerous scarves will no doubt hide from documentation. 

In the beginning he’d been ashamed to think of their coupling like this. He’d felt crass when he started to hear their own most filthy songs in his head when Jimmy was under him. Now he doesn’t just embrace it. He glories in it. Whole Lotta Love, Black Dog. In My Time of Dying. _Oh My, Jimmeh! Oh My, Jimmeh! Oh my Jimmy!_ He’s close and he’s not slowing down and Jimmy has realised and he’s holding him so tight, so tight and they are locking eyes, and Jimmy has gone slack mouthed, and Robert can’t believe it, and Jimmy is coming, eyes open, as he comes inside him, hard, hard, harder, Jimmy pulsing against him, hot wet cum between them. Sweat soaked. Wet haired. Shuddering. Amazed, hilarious. Astonished. Like a fairy story. 

The first time they ever came together like that. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me state again I did not write this, Ledbythreads did. But if you have nice things to say, I'll make sure they read them.


End file.
